


you occupy everything

by magisterequitum



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, First Date, Post-Pemberley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy comes back to town. Her mother whispers it over coffee cake and tea one morning, her words a hush because Lydia's still asleep upstairs and their house remains quiet these days, but she tells Lizzie it all in an excited whisper:</p><p>"He came back in the middle of the night, I heard. Just suddenly there. I do wonder if he brought that Mr. Lee with him too."</p><p>(or the one where they have their first date)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you occupy everything

Darcy comes back to town. Her mother whispers it over coffee cake and tea one morning, her words a hush because Lydia's still asleep upstairs and their house remains quiet these days, but she tells Lizzie it all in an excited whisper:

"He came back in the middle of the night, I heard. Just suddenly there. I do wonder if he brought that Mr. Lee with him too." 

Lizzie breaks off a piece of her breakfast and fiddles with it, letting it crumble into further messy pieces that stick to her napkin and become useless. She doesn't have the energy to tell her mother that Jane and Bing already reconciled in L.A. That was Jane's to tell at any rate. Their mother's been trying more to be around lately, as if she can make up for her absence and the role it played in recent affairs. 

She's too busy thinking about how her face has gone hot and her pulse beats in her ears. 

 

 

 

 

Certainly Pemberley had been all sorts of nice. She'd had an amazing time working there, shadowing others, speaking up in meetings, even contributing on projects. She'd had an amazing time too with Gigi, going out at nights and eating lunches together. And she'd had an amazing time, yes she could admit it, learning more about just who William Darcy was. Enough so that she'd looked forward to seeing him during the day, had wanted to talk to him, not just to corner him in her videos, but to genuinely talk to him; she liked the sound of his voice, how his mouth curved when he'd said something particularly engaging, or made her smile; she liked the way he touched her arm when she and he and Gigi toured the city, pointing out the sights and what places were actually cool and those that were overrated; she liked that she liked seeing him and that he obviously liked seeing her; she liked the days that folded into weeks, how the lunches with Gigi turned into lunches and dinners with him too, and sometimes Fitz also, but _him_ too. 

But it'd been short lived and snatched away with one tearful and hysterical phone call from Jane. She never wants to hear the sound of her sister's voice like that again. 

It's been three weeks ago and Lizzie hadn't seen him since. 

 

 

 

 

Except now Darcy's apparently back in town, living over at Netherfield. She very nearly calls him William when she tells Lydia, and bites her tongue so hard she's certain it will bleed. 

Lydia cocks her head and stares at her across her bed where she's curled herself around Kitty. Her baby sister wears a lime green shirt today, the brightest piece of clothing she's worn in weeks. It's just them, as Jane had to return to work last weekend. "You should totally go see him." 

"What. Why?" Lizzie spins in her desk chair to look at her, her eyebrows scrunched and mouth open. 

Petting Kitty's head, Lydia shrugs her shoulders, a lazy lift that conveys nothing. "Just because. I know you like the dude. Why not?" 

Why not, indeed. 

 

 

 

 

She doesn't though. 

She chickens out from actually walking to the mansion and knocking on the door, because that would be ridiculous. Here's what happens: she puts on a pair of jeans and stands in front of her mirror, telling herself that she can just go over there, after all they'd ate together and talked together and spent time together, they were friends and all; and then she changes her jeans because she doesn't like the wash of them, slips on a skirt instead, but it's cold outside today; and then she realizes that she's arguing with her mirrored reflection and well that's just ridiculous, Lizzie Bennet. 

 

 

 

 

She does go. Mainly because it's ridiculous and stupid and silly to stand there and verbally spar with herself in the mirror. And also because Lydia yells at her to shut up from her bedroom; all is getting better in the Bennet household. 

Lizzie marches out the door and around the corner block. 

It's only when she gets past the third light that she realizes she never changed her socks, and she's now striding through the neighborhood wearing the Holiday socks Charlotte had bought her as a gag gift. They have overtly cheerful penguins on them. 

 

 

 

 

"Lizzie," Darcy looks down and then back at her face. His brow furrows. "Your socks have penguins on them." 

"I," she swallows because that's not quite how she predicted this going. "Yes, I do." Her tone rises at the end, and it's nearly a question. They're two awkward people standing on the front steps of the Netherfield mansion now. She hopes to God that her mother doesn't choose this moment to do one of her drive-byes to see what's going on today here. 

A tinge of pink rises in his cheeks at her voice, and it's fascinating to her, to watch that color bloom and then fade. "Is something wrong?" He asks, clearing his throat and staring at her. 

Lizzie's throat makes a little noise and she shakes her head. "No, nothing's wrong. I wanted to see you." 

"Lizzie," her name and it sounds so nice when she's not heard it from his mouth. 

She feels silly in that moment. Like she's in some romantic comedy and she's the stare lead, the one who's spent time trying to hate him, and found out all her reasons were wrong, like she's giddy and shameful and embarrassed all together, like she wants to reach out and touch his face and trace where the blush had been a moment ago. "I missed you," she says, a confession that curls away in the cold morning. 

Darcy blinks, his mouth drooping and a little smile creeping its way across the stiff planes of his face as if involuntarily. "I missed you too." 

"I really did," she blurts, just to make him understand. "I mean I enjoyed working with you at Pemberley, and when my mother said you were here, I just wanted to see you again--" 

He cuts her off, taking a step closer to her away from the front door, and he looks so happy and pleased in that moment. "Lizzie," she's beginning to think she could get addicted to him saying her name. "I missed you too, really."

"Okay." She settles back on her feet where she'd risen up in her flats without realizing it. Her fingers still shake with some nervous energy. Her tongue feels clumsy in her mouth. 

"If you did truly miss me," he begins, his mouth contorting as he hesitates. "Then I feel compelled to tell you that my feelings have not changed for you."

Her breath catches in her throat. A car drives past them, and a door slams from down the street. 

"If your feelings have not changed, then I won't say anything more-"

She finds her voice. "They have." 

"Oh." It's the most inarticulate and inelegant William Darcy has ever sounded, and she delights in the fact that she made him that way. The smile on her face widens. "I see." 

"Would you like to get dinner tonight?" She asks it slowly, not because she's unsure, but because he's still staring at her with his face still split between emotions. 

Darcy's brow furrows. She can very nearly see the question blooming in his mind. 

"Like a date," Lizzie further says, cutting off anything he might be thinking or not thinking. "A real one." Because things before could be date like activities, even if others had been with them. But this is between them, just them. 

"Yes." 

"Yes?"

Darcy nods and his face breaks out then in a wide smile, no confusion or apprehension on his face then. "Yes." 

 

 

 

 

They settle on Il Fornaio for dinner. 

It's not the nicest place in town, but it's nicer than most. Perfect middle of the way, and she's got a craving for it. Lydia helps her pick out a dress, with Jane on the phone giving suggestions, and they settle on a nice blue one with a cream colored cardigan over it. She does not wear the penguin socks. She does put on heels because he's so tall and she's so little compared to him. She wants to be closer tonight. 

Lydia hovers over her shoulder when she answers the door, cooing at the flowers that Darcy presents her with. 

"It is still customary to give them, yes?" He asks, hesitant as if he's done something wrong, and she can't have that tonight. 

"They're very nice," she says, reaching out to take them from him while smiling brightly. When she hears her mother start to holler from the second level, she passes them back to Lydia. "We should go." 

Lizzie reaches for Darcy's hand and pulls him out and down the steps. "Unless you really want to spend the next hour with my mother?" 

He blanches, seeming to weigh it before shaking his head. "Perhaps another time." 

"Wise choice." 

They leave Lydia to run interference for them. 

 

 

 

 

It becomes apparent at the restaurant that both of them are too nervous for this. Their conversation has been stilted, more reminiscent of their first meetings instead of just weeks ago when she'd been laughing and debating Russian philosophers with him over fish tacos. She fiddles with the stem of her wine glass and looks at him across the table. 

"We're not doing this right." 

Darcy's head snaps up. They've already placed their order, and he's been messing with the corner of his napkin for the past thirty seconds. 

"We're trying too hard, I think." Lizzie frowns, annoyed at this turn of events. 

He nods, a sheepish sort of look replacing the apprehension and stiffness of his composure. "We might be." 

She taps her finger against the wine's glass and huffs. "This is silly. I mean I know when we first met that I said some pretty terrible things about you, and I wouldn't blame you if you hated me, but we've talked before and ate together and done things." 

"I don't hate you, Lizzie." 

Lizzie stops voicing her train of thoughts, looking across the table at him. "I mean, maybe not now, but before you must have-"

"I didn't." He jerks his head, a sharp movement of his chin. "Not even then. What you said," he says carefully, so serious in how he doesn't move his eyes from her own. "was not untoward or untrue. I am not the most easy person to get along with and how I behaved was not exemplary of any behavior. You were most honest, and I loved you all the more for it." 

She flushes, the restaurant suddenly seeming too hot. "I'm not that great." 

His head tilts. "I'd have to call you a liar, Lizzie Bennet." 

A little noise escapes her throat, a sort of laugh that she's not made in a long time. Her stomach flips over. "You might be biased." She grabs her glass of wine and takes a long swallow. 

"I'm okay with that," Darcy says, smiling at her, eyes still on her. 

Her stomach flutters again. 

 

 

 

 

She kisses him outside, uncaring if her breath tastes of garlic from the chicken she'd had for dinner. He goes to open the car door for her, and she just leans up. If he's startled, he recovers quick. 

They kiss outside, her hands sliding over his dress shirt to curve around his shoulders, stretching her body up and assisted when he settles his palms on her hips and pulls her against him and up. Her heels leave the pavement. 

"Will," she says against his lips, a needy noise that she can't help. "Will." 

His hand holds her tighter, pressing against her hip bone. "What?" He mumbles as he tries to kiss her again. 

"I don't want to go home." 

Darcy leans back just a bit, enough to see her face, and his eyes are wide in the dark light, his lips already a bit swollen from her forcefulness. He swallows, the long line of his throat working and his apple's adam jumping. "Okay." 

She kisses him again. It takes them another three minutes to get into the car. She doesn't even care that someone might see them and tell her mother that her daughter was caught making out and practically climbing that rich boy from out of town on the sidewalk. 

 

 

 

 

Lizzie never saw his room before at Netherfield. The walls are a soothing blue she notices as she takes a minute to look around at it. His suitcase is in the corner, sitting upright and probably empty. His watch on the dresser, his laptop glowing on the desk. Her body thrums with need and want, and the bed is what interests her now. She turns and slides herself back into his arms, fits her body to his in a way that makes her heady with desire. They've traded kisses for the last twenty minutes, but she doesn't think she's tired of learning the contours of his mouth just yet. Her lips against his, her tongue counting his teeth, and she walks backwards to the bed. 

"I want you," she admits from swollen and bitten lips. "I want you so much." And reaches for him as she sits. She can't stop touching him. 

He follows over her, knees on opposing sides of her own, palms down on the bed, one hand shifting to grab at her hair. He kisses her again, briefly on her lips, and then down over her chin. Under her jaw and neck, following where her skin's turned pink in the v-neck dip of her dress. He's just as needy as her, just as unable to stop or keep his hands from touching her. 

She will remember later the sound of her name from his lips, how she'll never tire of it. How his hands will shake from rolling on the condom. How he will focus on her, one hand spread over her hip, the other touching her clit. How their eyes will be wide in the low light from the street glow outside the windows. How she will be unable to keep quiet. How she will not care about being quiet and will be as loud as she wants because she wants him and he wants her and he's slowly fucking her into the mattress and it's better than anything she'd ever dared to think up. How after he will trace patterns on her hip where he'd held her close, lazily tracing from there to her breast. 

Lizzie will remember too how Darcy will try to lean away once they are done, and how she will pull him back, positioning him behind her and against her, and then smile she will feel against her hair at her actions. 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Lizzie rolls over away from the sun to find Darcy already awake and counting the spattering of freckles behind her knee. She looks down at him and catches him, giggling at the guilty look on his face. "Hello." 

"Hello." 

She laughs and shifts her naked limbs beneath the sheet, reaching out to touch his rumpled hair, spiking it up even further. She's happy. 

So happy.


End file.
